


If Only You Knew

by saecchii (orphan_account)



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: First Meetings, Former Gang Member Shiro, Implied Relationships, M/M, Meet-Cute, Son of Gang Leader Lance, but nothing explicit, kind of, references to violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-09
Updated: 2019-01-09
Packaged: 2019-10-07 00:32:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17355578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/saecchii
Summary: Shiro finds an unconscious guy behind his cafe. Offering the son of a notorious gang leader a cookie for his troubles may not be the wisest decision.





	If Only You Knew

All Shiro had wanted to do was take out some trash he’d been too lazy to take out the night before. Instead of a few stray cats milling around for milk and leftover lunch, Shiro had happened upon some guy rousing out of unconsciousness in the side alleyway. Initial shock aside, Shiro had hurried over, checking his pulse and breathing a sigh a relief when he got a pained groan in reply. He’d helped the guy up anyway, ushered him into the kitchen by the side door and planted him on a stool. Then they’d stared at each other wordlessly for a while.

Shiro wasn’t sure how to proceed.

Shiro’s first instinct probably shouldn’t have been to offer the guy some of the cookies he’d just taken out of the oven. The guy, young by the look of him, just two years Shiro’s junior probably, and looking like he’d taken quite the beating, looked up at Shiro with a tilted eyebrow. His lip was split, and a bruise was forming under his eye, a nasty purple shadowing it. The guy didn’t protest though and reached forward to hesitantly take a cookie. His hand hovered over the batch, looking up at Shiro with a pair of dark blue eyes, almost lost under the shadow of his hoodie. 

Shiro’s eyes flickered to ring sitting on the guy’s middle finger. A startingly bright silver band, and a coat of arms Shiro couldn’t help but feel he knew. Two sharks encircling stylized guns, a sun at the heart. The man didn’t seem to notice, eyes looking around the kitchen, probably figuring his easiest means of escape. 

Shiro hated that he knew the feeling, once, still.

He took the cookie, still eyeing Shiro as if Shiro was going to backhand him with the plate any second. When he drew his hand back, the guy furrowed his brows unsure of why Shiro was just putting the cookies down and clearly not trying to kick him or something. Shiro just took a cookie himself and bit into it, eyes flickering over his companion. His dark green hoodie was dirty, probably from being down in the alleyway floor. 

Footprints were littered across his clothes, and his knuckles were scratched. Waking up and getting cookies was probably not what he was expecting. The guy took a bite, eyes never leaving Shiro. Still, Shiro’s better judgement said that he shouldn’t just let this guy disappear when he was clearly hurt.

“I’m Shiro,” Shiro explained. “I’m the, uh, owner of this bakery you got knocked out beside.”

The guy looked almost sheepish, clearing his throat. The ghost of a sly smile passed over his face.  “I’m Lance. I’m the guy that got the shit beat out of him by your bakery.”

Shiro quirked a grin. “Well, Lance-the-guy-who-got-the-shit-beat-out-of-him, you wouldn’t want some coffee and some melon pan while I bandage you up, would you?”

Lance shoved the rest of the cookie into his mouth, thinking over the request. “I’d be delighted.”

Shiro turned around and reached for the coffee pot he had left to brew when he’d gone outside. 

It wasn’t the best coffee, that he knew - if you wanted that you had to go next door to Allura’s place. Shiro figured Lance wouldn’t care much if it sucked or not. He took a cup down from the cupboard, an unused one settled between his and Hunks cups. If Lance saw something strange about a six foot guy with a bionic arm owning a couple Pusheen cups, he didn’t say so. Shiro poured him the coffee then pushed the creamer and sugars his way. Lance set to work making it as ungodly sweet as possible. Shiro pulled the oven open, took the melon pan out. He’d have to make a new batch for Hunk since it was a treat the two of them often shared together. 

“So,” Shiro started. Lance’s eyes flickered between him and the tray.  “Any reason we should meet like this?”

Lance’s expression darkened a moment. Then a smile was flashing across his face, strangely cocky despite the busted lip. Shiro scoffed a quiet laugh. He shuffled a fresh little mound before Lance. His companion tested it with the tips of his fingers.

“A disagreement, I’m afraid. Some people can’t stand how good looking I am.” Lance picked off a piece to pop into his mouth. “It’s a curse, I know.”

He reached out to touched a thumb to the blooming purple under Lance’s eye. Faint as they were, Shiro could see a smattering of freckles there, like the heart of a sunflower across the other man’s cheeks. Lance took his lip between his teeth, cockiness leaving and gone as Shiro drew his hand back.

“Terrible thing to be cursed with, if this is what happens.” Shiro pushed him another piece of melon pan. “With a face that pretty it’s a shame it gets this kind of treatment.” He felt quite smug the way Lance flushed.

Lance washed down his embarrassment with the coffee, quiet. “Well. There may be more I’m cursed with.”

“Yeah? Student debts?” Shiro said, trying to lighten the mood. 

Lance smirked. “Weird to say, but I wish. No, something a little worse.” 

They lapsed into silence, an easy one despite the way the conversation had gone, both eating, clock ticking over by the alley door. At one point, Lance reached over to try and take Shiro’s melon pan; Shiro pretended to chop his fingers with his prosthetic. The quiet giggle he got in return was almost sweet enough. 

Shiro’s eyes flickered back down to Lance’s ring again, squinting as he tried to remember where he’d seen it. 

Lance cleared his throat. “You know, you didn’t need to help me out like you did.”

Shiro cocked a brow, sipping his own coffee as he took in Lance’s sudden shuttered body language. He’d been so easy going until that moment. “So you would rather I left you there?”

“Well. I’m not sure. What reason did you even have to help me? It could have been a trap. It could be something you don’t need to get involved in. Hell, it’s just not even your problem.”

Shiro huffed. The irony, really. Shiro had been the one dumping guys like Lance in alleyways just five years prior. No need to tell him that, though.

“ _ Well _ ,” Shiro repeated, teasing. “If it makes you feel better, my coworker is out today. Maybe I just wanted some company? And more importantly, it would be bad for business if I just had a seemingly dead body found out there. I quite like my job.”

Lance shot him a look, a smile dissolving across his face as his shoulders shook silently into a laugh. “You’re an interesting one, Shiro.”

He cocked his head at Shiro, raking his eyes up and down. Considering, wondering. He seemed to decide after a moment, and reached into hoodie. Interestingly, he pulled out a business card. He held it out to Shiro between his middle and forefinger. Lance wobbled to his feet when Shiro took it. 

Turning it over, Shiro saw the same coat of arms on the white card. Under it was _McClain_ , and a number. Shiro’s brows flew to his hairline. 

_ Shit _ . There was a name he hadn’t heard in a while. And not because he had finally insisted to Keith to stop updating him on Marmora business. The McClains had been on the out when Shiro had still been in the business. A tenacious old family, Shiro wasn’t surprised they’d still been around. He let the thought mull over for a moment in his mind, letting the pieces come to mind. 

_ Lance McClain. _ Son of Santiago McClain, head of the McClain Family. 

It made sense now. The last time he’d seen Lance, a far off memory at that, he was snarling at Keith during a business meeting, just a flash of color as Shiro glanced over his shoulder, the double doors of Boss McClain’s office doors sliding shut; back when Keith was just training under him. 

Lance, as he was always known was the youngest and most beloved son. Hell, it was no secret that all of family had adored the man. A little prince if there ever was one. 

He’d barely seen Lance then, just fresh at nineteen, a smudge in Shiro’s memory. Shiro didn’t expect to see Lance again, if ever, like this, at twenty-four, looking like he’d been wrung dry.

Interesting.

“Listen.” Lance exhaled. “If you need a favor.  _ Any _ favor. Just - just give that number a call. I owe you.”

Shiro let his expression fall back to neutral. He looked to Lance, gave him a lopsided smile. “Even if it’s just a date?”

Lance blinked, turning to gape at Shiro. He seemed unable to come up with a reply, retreating back into his hoodie. He drew the strings tight until the hood closed in around his face and only the peak of his pointed nose poked out. Shiro laughed.

“Especially if it’s that,” Lance finally said. His whole nose flushed red, and the bits of cheeks and freckles showing did, too. 

A better part of Shiro told him to stop, to step back. He licked his lips. “Expect my call then.”

**Author's Note:**

> Keith would be Shiro's successor and still, in a way, Lance's rival. Well, considering rival gangs. Keith's (and thereby Shiro's) gang wasn't the one that beat up Lance btw. This is vague and stuff because I kinda just had this idea AGES ago and forgot everything except what I wrote to myself in the docs. I just wanted to clean it and post it because eventually I'll finish my fics right? 
> 
> Lance is 24, Shiro is 27


End file.
